To Carry Her Dream

“We'll be dead long before reinforcements arrive. We have to deploy the Caliburn now.”

“We can't! The pilot is dead, and we don't have time to design another Doll!”

“I'll do it.”

“What?”

“I'll pilot the Caliburn. I have the qualifications, and I'm a close enough genetic match to survive stitching. I'll sacrifice everything to fulfill my sister's dream!”

I'll never forget the day I said those fateful words.

Colonial Stardate 435.11.4

Deep Space Station DX-α

8 Parsecs from Imperial Border

After weeks of hard work, the biggest project of my life was about to pay off. I was the head mechanic and foreman in the assembly of the Caliburn, the first in a new line of super-mecha. On the surface, it looked like a medieval knight in shining armour stretched to an impossible height. The folds of its seven-story-tall frame concealed some of the most advanced weapons yet devised by the United Space Colonies, and its maximum vernier output was so strong that only the cybernetically-enhanced Dolls could possibly survive its full potential. I had never been so proud of my own work, or of my sister Emily who had been chosen as its first test pilot.

Just after the final checks were completed, and unexpected disaster threw the station into disarray. An Imperial warship dropped out of warp a mere half-light-second away and fired its full complement of particle beams. They inflicted heavy casualties and knocked many of our weapon systems offline before our shields reached full power. With the station crippled, it was only a matter of time until their anti-shield fighters opened a hole for them to finish us off. Even the desperate option of launching the Caliburn untested seemed denied to us because Emily had perished in the initial attack.

Only a fifth-generation Doll could pilot the Caliburn, and the enhancement process (called “stitching”) was uniquely tailored to each recipient's genetic code. While slight adjustments to the targeting mechanisms and artificial immune system could be made quickly, designing one from scratch was a long and arduous process requiring hundreds of hours of supercomputer time. Getting stitched into someone else's Doll body meant certain death – unless you were a very close relative of the original target. Out of both time and options, I decided to take the risk.

So it was that I came to stand before a full-length mirror in the medical bay, staring at my own reflection for the last time. I was a little over 180cm with short brown hair and green eyes. My rough features matched the chiseled physique I'd built over two decades of heavy lifting. My long, hairy legs ended in massive size 13 feet. The proof of my manhood hung limply from my crotch, shrivelled by the cold room and my stress. I hadn't had as much use for it as I would have liked, but I was still going to miss it.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?” asked the doctor.

I looked him right in the eyes and said “Yes.” I stepped into the stitching tube, strapped on my breathing apparatus, and waited for the chamber to fill. Before long, I floated helplessly in artificial blood.

The stitching process was the most disconcerting thing I have ever felt. It starts with nanomachines breaking down almost the entirely of your body, leaving nothing but your nerves and brain. Mercifully, the liquid was too opaque for me to see them strip away my flesh and bones. My hands and feet went numb, followed shortly by my arms and legs. Before long, I could no longer feel myself breathing. The hum of the ship's systems disappeared as my ears dissolved, and the tangy, metallic taste of the artificial blood left with my tongue. It was so dark I almost didn't notice when my eyes were gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I could not say how long it was until I could feel again. The process of building my new body was slower than destroying the old, giving me plenty of time to focus on each sensation as portions were complete. Long hair brushed against my narrow shoulders and rounded face. Fluid filled my artificial lungs, but I could breathe it as easily as air. Shortly thereafter, I felt my petite breasts floating in front of my torso. My thin, delicate arms stretched out like spider-webs; they ended in dainty hands. Further below, my slender waist rounded out into the gentle curves of my new hips and ass. Blood washed over the smooth, feminine mound between the beginnings of my thighs. Finally, my hairless legs grew downwards into tiny feet.

The tank began to empty. I knelt down and coughed the blood out of my lungs. A fountain of water gushed from the ceiling to wash the rest off of me. It soaked into my hair and flowed like a river down my back. Smaller streams trickled around and between my breasts. At little unsure of myself, I lifted each one in turn and rubbed beneath them to make sure there was no blood stuck underneath. My entire body felt light as a feather; even my soaking wet hair was barely noticeable. When the last traces of the stitching fluid sank into the drain, the shower stopped and warm air swirled around to dry me.

I nearly fell as I stepped back out into the medical bay. I'd lost about forty centimetres, and everything looked huge. I forced myself to take shorter strides and soon fell into a smooth rhythm. My petite proportions made the smooth rolling of my hips as I walked feel even more out of place. The slight bounce of my breasts barely bothered me at all. I was more concerned with the feel of the luxurious locks flowing down my back and tickling my butt with each step. Steeling myself for what was to come, I rounded the corner and stood in front of the mirror.

I nearly cried out in grief when I saw my reflection. I was almost the spitting image of my late sister, but unnaturally large, pupil-less eyes with purple irises replaced her piercing blue. Seeing myself like that so soon after she passed was almost too much for me. I reached out to a nearby bed to steady myself, and was surprised to feel the steel yield beneath my fingers as I gripped it. I'd known Dolls were stronger than unaugmented humans, but hadn't realized they (we!) were that strong.

The doctor's head appeared above mine in the mirror. I'd been a head taller than him before, but now he was a head taller than me.

“According to the monitors, everything went well.” he said. “How are you feeling?”

I started to reply “A little – wow, is that my voice?” It was a lilting soprano, much higher than my previous baritone. “I'm a little overwhelmed,” I continued, “but I think I'm fine physically. Almost everything feels familiar, but different enough to be really, really strange.”

He nodded. “Most Dolls don't go through such a radical change in body type, so that's to be expected. I highly recommend putting yourself through your paces in the gym when this all over. Unfortunately, we don't have time for that now. I'm going to perform a cursory examination to make sure your nerves are connecting to your new body and auxiliary ports properly, then you have to launch.”

True to his word, the doctor's examination was short and sweet. It had to be because the Imperial fighters would arrive within an hour of being launched, and that had been half and hour ago. I scrambled into a skin-tight flight suit, blushing at the feel of the rubber on my new curves. There was no time to waste searching my feelings, so I immediately began making my way to the Caliburn's hangar.

Dolls didn't need helmets, and there was no way my long hair would fit in one. Against twenty years of instinct, I began depressurizing the airlock with my head exposed. As the pressure dropped, I exhaled and my mouth sealed against my will. I panicked for a moment because I couldn't breath, but quickly calmed down because I wasn't suffocating. My shiny new internal oxygen tanks could support me for hours in a vacuum. Even the flight suit was for hygiene and modesty rather than survival.

Several of my men saluted as I entered the hangar. I returned the salute and strode confidently past them, trying to hide my renewed awe at the Caliburn's gargantuan frame. I placed a hand on its chest, and the armoured plates swung aside like clamshells to reveal a small hollow in the heart of the machine. I sat in the chair within the hollow and entered the startup sequence into the console. Wires sprang forth from the frame, seeking the auxiliary port valves in my ankles, wrists and neck. Dozens of images flashed through my head as the Caliburn completed its diagnostics and hummed to life. The sleeping giant had awoken, and it was time for the invaders to pay.

Like an all-knowing genie, the Caliburn responded to my every wish almost before I'd thought it. As soon as the outer hangar doors opened, its verniers pushed it safely out the door and spun it around to face the approaching Imperial ships. I could clearly see each of the eight enemy fighters when I focused on them – any of Caliburn's camera could be fed directly to my brain. Three of them were taken out by the station's crippled defenses as I approached, but the others were approaching the shield with deadly plasma bombs that could interfere with it and take it down.

The Imperial fighters broke formation when they realized how quickly I was approaching. They had a maximum sustained acceleration of six Gs for the safety of the pilot; I could manage sixteen. As soon as I passed through the shield, I raised Caliburn's left arm and fired its mass drivers. Two of the enemy fighters violently exploded before the others could react. The remaining three fired several missiles at me and banked away. I destroyed four missiles with the lasers concealed behind Caliburn's visor and effortlessly dodged the remaining two, which exploded harmlessly on the station's shields. I returned fire with several miniature missiles of my own, sending another Imperial pilot spinning to an early grave. One fool tried to ram me, and I caught him in one of Caliburn's unbreakable xentronium hands. The remaining pilot deployed his plasma bomb, hoping to complete his objective even if it cost him his life. I grabbed it with a tractor beam and flung it back at him. The resulting explosion melted his fighter into a cloud of shrapnel and molten steel that quickly dispersed in the vacuum of space.

Suddenly, there was a searing pain in my left arm. I moved to my right and inspected the arm for damage. An shallow gash had been dug into the front of it, presumably from the mother ship's particle beams. For most fighters, a hit from a capital ship's main guns would be a death sentence. For the Caliburn, it was an annoyance. Sustained fire from that beam would destroy me, but I didn't intend to take sustained fire. I was too small a target for them to lock on to, so I decided to press the attack.

It took only me twenty minutes to reach the Imperial warship, dodging occasional missiles and potshots from their main guns as I accelerated ever forward. I think the station's commander tried to call me back, but I ignored him. Those bastards had taken the lives of my sister and many of my friends, and I intended to return the favour. I didn't need plasma bombs to pass through the enemy shield – I had a plasma sword. As the tip of the three-story blade hit the field, both crackled with energy. There was a brief moment of resistance before I passed through and faced the full force of the ship's point defence weapons. Wheeling like a dervish, I dodged or deflected the majority of the lasers pointed my way. The enemy flack cannons bounced harmlessly against my armoured surface. I skimmed along the underside of the ship, holding the entire length of my blade within it. Shortly after that pass, a brilliant white light engulfed the Imperial ship. My sword had damaged their antimatter containment unit, and the entire ship was consumed in the ensuing blaze.

I sighed and directed the Caliburn back to base. The nightmarish day was almost over, but I would have to live with its consequences for the rest of my life. The reality of the situation began to sink in as the light from the antimatter explosion faded, and it was too much for me too deal with all at once. Being stuck in the Caliburn for another hour as it decelerated from my suicidal charge gave me plenty of time to think. I spent most of it crying.

Colonial Stardate 435.11.10

It's been almost a week since the attack. The engineers are still working overtime to repair some of the larger hull breaches, but the station isn't in any immediate danger and things are starting to get back to normal. As for myself, I'm still learning what normal is.

After my official debriefing, I requested some leave to sort things out. The first day was spent sorting through Emily's things. I couldn't bear to do more than box up most of them for now, but I took her clothing out of necessity. Right now I'm wearing her orange and white dress with matching shoes and ribbon. Getting the leggings on was a bit of a chore because I didn't want to tear them. I'll have to get used to wearing outfits like this eventually, so I might as well start now.

I'm still not sure how I feel about being a woman. That's one of the things I'll be discussing with my councilor later today. On the upside, being a Doll will give me a long time to get used to it. According to my maintenance manual, it could be another four hundred years before my brain gives out. Almost anything else can be safely replaced.

I didn't have to check the manual to know that I'll be in for the full female experience. First- and second-generation Dolls, who had much more mechanical appearances, often regretted the loss of their humanity. Newer designs simulate additional biological features to protect the mental health of Dolls stitched into them. Emily only agreed to become one when she heard about the latest feature in the fifth generation: the ability to reproduce. I don't plan on getting pregnant anytime soon (if ever!), but I can expect my first period in exactly two weeks. I'm definitely not looking forward to that.

Despite those issues, I think this will be a positive change in my life. I'm not happy with the circumstances leading up to it, but I can't complain about being the heroic, super-strong saviour of DX-α. I know that my sister can rest in peace knowing I'll be there to protect the people she loves. I will never be her, but I can carry her dream to the stars.